Still feeling last night’s whiskey, you roll out of your bunk onto the cold, bare concrete floor. You’re not sure where last night has left you. Falling into line with your fellow travellers, you hope their focus is well directed.
Too slow to claim shotgun, you end up riding bitch, sandwiched between an old school serial killer and an Elvis impersonator. The road is rough. Packed clay … more pothole than surface. Every twenty yards or so erosion has formed perfect narrow ribs in the road, and you get that creeping feeling in your gut as your jewels chatter like an inuit’s teeth.
A landscape like none you’ve ever seen crawls across your window. The hills are lush and green, much like those at home … but they’re just off somehow. Golden brown hayfields glisten in the sun with a brilliance seldom seen.
You give up on comparisons and surrender to the experience. Like that blurred picture on a waiting room wall, if you relax your eyes, new images emerge from the background.
The roots of enormous trees wrap and wind their way over and around the beaten stone of ancient ruins. The ground, once thoroughly domesticated, has reclaimed its wild freedom. You run through it like a child in a playground and feel alive………..
……….the CD stops. You fall out of your musical daydream and land squarely back in your morning commute. You pull into your normal spot at work.
It’s all routine from here.
released August 22, 2005
Recorded and Produced by Bil Vorndick
all rights reserved